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‘Will you let me know when you’re certain?’ he asked. His voice rumbled along her senses like thunder. ‘Because I would very much like to be the man who kisses you.’

He stepped back, and Ivy almost fell into him as his solid warmth suddenly disappeared.

Something sharp and insistent pulsed through her blood. A hollow ache clenched low in her belly. Her nipples chafed against the dreaded corset, and the resultant tingles spiralled through her body, creating a hunger for something elusive. Frustration filled her, replacing the earlier fear.

Edward’s mouth curled in a wicked smile.

‘Bastard,’ she hissed, then slapped her hand over her mouth.

‘You mispronounced “admirable gentleman”, Lady Ivy.’ The sparkle in his eye mocked her.

Ivy crossed her arms over her chest, huffing out a breath. ‘I’m beginning to understand why Philippa so dislikes you, Worthington.’

‘Well, she is usually right. Infuriating as that is to admit. Shall we return to the dance floor, lest people think you lured me out here with less than honourable intentions?’ He winged up a dark brow.

Ivy had the urge to smack him. She never felt impulses to hit gentlemen.

Avoid them, certainly. Hide from the more aggressive ones, undoubtedly.

Ignore them completely, most definitely.

But Edward – Commissioner Worthington – did something no other gentleman ever had.

He provoked her. And when she responded, instead of pressing his advantage, he backed away, forcing her to step forward if she wished to continue whatever game they were playing.

But this isn’t a game.

It was Ivy’s life. A part of herself she thought missing entirely was emerging from the dark shadows of her past. The thrill of discovery blended with the fear of the unknown.

She could still feel the warm, firm pressure of his soft lips against her fingertips.

It wasn’t difficult to imagine them brushing over her mouth.

One word from her, even a nod of assent, is all it would have taken to finally know.

I am such a coward!

He extended his hand to her, and she took it, berating herself for five different kinds of fool.

‘I am a patient man, Lady Ivy. I don’t mind waiting. And I promise you will tremble with desire, not fear, when you are certain of what you want.’ He kept his eyes ahead as his words crept into her soul, lighting fires she never imagined could burn quite so hot.

‘What if I’m certain I never want to kiss you… or anyone?’ Her voice was an unrecognisable rasp.

‘Then we shall remain as we are, though hopefully, you might trust me enough to become friends and not just someone with whom you seek out dastardly gentlemen.’

Men didn’t seek friendship with women. The fairer sex were tools men used to gain power through matrimonial contracts, or physical receptacles upon which to slake their lust, or pretty bits of lace draped over their arms to show off as one might with a jewel or bauble.

They were never friends because that implied a level of equality few men granted women.

‘You wish to become my friend?’

‘I do.’ Edward’s deep voice rumbled along her nerve endings.

‘Why?’ The question burned in her mind. What possible benefit would Edward gain by wanting a friendship with her? Ivy Cavendale? A skinny little coward skulking around the edges of ballrooms. Too broken to even look at men and see anything other than monsters.

Except she didn’t see a monster when she looked at Edward Worthington.

They re-entered the ballroom before he could answer and almost crashed into Lady Olivia Smithwick on the arm of her husband.

‘Ivy!’ Olivia was breathtaking in a silver gown with crimson flowers embroidered into the material, becoming larger blooms as they cascaded down the skirt.

Her blonde riot of curls was caught in a deceptively simple knot that seemed to artfully unravel and spill over her pale shoulder.

‘I never imagined you would attend the Widow’s Ball.

’ Olivia pulled free of her husband’s grip and wrapped Ivy in a tight hug.

She narrowed her eyes. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘She came at my request.’ Edward smoothly inserted himself into the conversation before Ivy could respond.

Claiming Ivy’s hand, he squeezed it almost painfully.

A speaking look quelled the truthful answer she would have given her friend.

It was clear Edward wished her to keep their real goal a secret.

Though why she needed to hide the fact from Olivia was beyond Ivy’s understanding.

Olivia’s gaze flicked from Edward to Ivy and back again. ‘Really? I didn’t think you would… er… be interested in such events.’

Lord Smithwick reclaimed his wife’s hand, wrapping it around his arm and holding it trapped there. ‘And how do you know this lady?’ He tilted up his chin to better look down upon Ivy.

Where Olivia was strikingly beautiful with high cheekbones, a full mouth, and porcelain skin, her husband was so very…

ordinary. Neither tall nor short, fat nor thin, his features blandly regular.

The only noticeable thing about him was his mouth.

It twisted in a sour expression as his grey eyes glittered with barely concealed malice.

‘Oh, we met at Lord Renquist’s masked ball. Allow me to introduce you to Lady Ivy Cavendale.’

Lord Smithwick’s nostrils flared as recognition tightened his already sour mouth into a pucker of disgust. ‘I knew your father. They say insanity runs in the blood.’ He arched a judgemental brow.

‘If that’s the case, then all the peerage would be stark raving mad, my love.

Everyone here has a loony uncle or crazed cousin tucked somewhere in their lineage.

’ Olivia’s sweet smile contrasted the seething hatred barely concealed in her gaze.

Based on the slight tick in Lord Smithwick’s left eye, Ivy would bet all of her books that the mad uncle and crazed cousin Olivia mentioned were both twisted branches in Smithwick’s family tree.

Ivy shot her friend a warning glance. She didn’t miss how the man’s grip tightened on Olivia’s hand, crushing her fingers until the tips turned red.

But Olivia continued as if nothing were amiss.

‘Lady Ivy helped me with my ripped hem. But I haven’t seen her since the masque.

’ Olivia gave her own meaningful look to Ivy.

It would seem everyone wanted to keep their activities secret.

Far be it from Ivy to reveal her friendship to Olivia.

Especially not to a man who seemed capable of all manner of ugly violence.

She wondered if Lord Smithwick even knew the part Olivia played at the All Souls Orphanage.

She would speak to Olivia on the matter at their first opportunity and offer her protection if necessary.

Philippa disliked Olivia, but surely she would put her feelings aside and extend sanctuary if the woman were in real need of help.

‘It has been months, hasn’t it? What a fortunate surprise to see you here.’ Ivy pulled out her rusty social skills and did her best to knock off the dust.

‘Indeed. What luck you’ve had in your choice of escort.

You’re sure to stay safe – even in such a den of iniquity as this – with Commissioner Worthington by your side.

’ Again, Olivia was communicating far more than her words conveyed.

The dart of her eyebrow and slight dip of her chin was a warning to Ivy. Keep the commissioner close .

Why? What dangers lurk here?

Or perhaps Olivia was just concerned with Ivy’s virtue, for certainly there were lords and ladies present who would not hesitate to take that which she did not offer. The contrast between such predators and Edward was stark.

I am a patient man, Ivy. I don’t mind waiting.

His words echoed through her mind, and the unspoken promise to never breach her boundaries echoed through her cavernous soul. Unless she wanted more.

I do want more.

The thought whispered through her like a warm wind in the heart of summer.

‘I hardly think the commissioner’s activities concern you, my dear.’ Lord Smithwick reclaimed Ivy’s attention as his gaze darted to Edward. ‘There wouldn’t be any reason for my wife to note who you attend balls with, would there, Commissioner?’

‘None outside polite interest, Smithwick. Something you might wish to practise.’ Edward’s cool tone belied the insult.

Smithwick narrowed his eyes into slits. ‘Come, darling. We should leave before I’m lectured on proper decorum by a man who spends his time with thieves, murderers, and madwomen.’ He flicked his gaze to Ivy. ‘Lady Cavendale.’ He spat her name as if it tasted bitter on his tongue.

Before she could respond, Smithwick jolted Olivia away.

Ivy’s friend looked over her shoulder as she was swept into the throng of bodies spinning on the dance floor and gave Ivy a reassuring smile.

If anyone could manage a man as cruel and petty as Smithwick appeared to be, it was Olivia.

Still, Ivy’s heart clenched at the thought of her friend being alone with a man like that.

He is her husband. She is alone with him all the time.

A truly depressing thought and one reason why Olivia may have taken such a keen interest in the orphanage.

‘Damn jealous fool. He sent his wife away over a decade ago for flirting with too many footmen, and now he brings her back only to attend a ball designed for such temptations. Half the gentlemen in this room would pay a pretty penny to tup Smithwick’s wife, and he is growling over her like a rabid dog. ’

Ivy turned to Worthington. ‘Are you one of that group?’ The sharp question revealed a new emotion burning within her. Oily and thick. Ugly and small. Jealousy.

Edward’s gaze clouded with confusion. ‘What group?’